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Sometimes I forget I’m in Europe. Sometimes IIII forget I’m in Spain. I forget what language needs to come out of my mouth and start blending the languages and throwing in wrong words.. “It was really fun porque when we went here…”.

But something, so small, that pulls me back to reality and really grounds me and helps me remember I’m not home is the way the shopkeepers act. Every morning on my walk to school every store owner is mopping the sidewalk or the street in front of their shop. It’s still dirty. There’s 15 year old dried, black gum, the stains of dog urine, the cigarette butts that end up right where they just mopped ten minutes after they’ve finished. It’s something small, but they all do it, and it reminds me that I’m not home.